Keeper of the Castle: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (25 page)

A
nother bump, and I had to brake to stay in my lane. I sped up, trying to think. The SUV had been nosing me from behind. Could it have been accidental? The vehicle fell back, and I breathed a sigh of relief . . . but then it started gaining on me again.

The road took a brief jog inland, and I was coming up to a 180-degree turn in the thick of the forest. I went as fast as I dared, but the SUV was still on my tail. I’m no slouch driving on winding highways—Dad taught all his girls to drive in the mountains, figuring if we could manage a stick on twisty mountain roads, our odds of negotiating city streets were that much better. So I did as I’d been taught, braking before entering the turn, then accelerating out of it. I didn’t understand the physics of it, but somehow the acceleration in the middle of a turn helped the driver maintain control.

Unfortunately, the SUV driver appeared to have some training, himself. I was assuming it was a
him
—I suppose
it could have been a woman, for all I could see. The windows were tinted, in the way of drug dealers and the sort of people who intended to run a person off the road.

As I careened through the next turn, it hit me: This person wanted to kill me.

Adrenaline pumped through me. My heart pounded. While I willed myself to stay focused on the road, I was also trying to think ahead. Where was the nearest town? How could I turn off the highway, or at the very least get away from the deadly coastal cliffs?

The occasional turnoffs were just dirt pathways. I was going to have to assume that if the SUV’s driver was willing to push me off a cliff, she or he might also be carrying a gun and wouldn’t hesitate to blow me away if I got stuck up a dirt road. My gun—Dad’s Glock—was in the farthest reaches of the closet in my room back at the Elrich mansion, of course, where it would be of no use whatsoever, unless I was threatened while hiding in the closet. This wasn’t the time to examine my actions, but it occurred to me that if I wanted a gun for protection, I really should get used to carrying it.

I sped through a series of sharp curves, and then another, the SUV on my tail. Up ahead was a bad one: a 180-degree curve on a narrow stretch of road right above the ocean, with only a yard or so leeway on the edge of the road.

Tires screeched and I fought to retain control. The big vehicle raced up behind me again, but this time I was ready and accelerated just as it started to tap my bumper, causing the SUV to fishtail. I felt a moment of fierce joy at the thought of my tormentor flying off the cliff and smashing against the rocks below, but the driver regained control. The vehicle spun and sprayed gravel, but came to rest pointing in the right direction.

But at least I had gained a few seconds of breathing space.

Finally a sight I thought I’d never be happy to see: traffic. A long line of cars ahead was crawling behind a slow-moving flatbed tow truck carrying a bulldozer.

This could be my salvation,
I thought. That, or it would be a disaster.

I didn’t know what to do if the SUV was ruthless enough to try to take out a whole line of cars. But when I glanced in the mirror, I saw the menacing vehicle falling back, before finally disappearing from my sight behind a curve in the road.

I was trembling and felt nauseated, but before stopping, I wanted to put some space between me and that homicidal SUV. And I wanted to find someplace crowded with people, who could either help me if needed or at least testify at the trial of my murderer. Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Pelican Inn. I was shaking but relieved at the beautiful sight of folks lolling on the grass, bicyclists and hikers and just plain folks out enjoying a sunny Bay Area day.

The parking lot attendant pointed me to an empty space at the back of the building, out of sight of the road. As I pulled in, I scanned the parking lot, irrationally fearful that the SUV somehow had gotten here first.

I got out and checked my bumper: There were several new scrapes and dings, scrapings of black paint.

As I made my way toward the inn, I asked the attendant if he knew whether Kieran was here.

He checked his clipboard.

“Lessee, he’s in room six,” he said, then looked to the empty spot marked with a 6. “Nope.”

I walked straight past the front desk and into the bathroom. The nausea had passed, but I was still shaking.
I splashed water on my face and checked myself out in the mirror: I was pale, my eyes wide and dazed.

“You okay, honey?” asked a woman who was flipping her bountiful blond hair to give it more body.

“Thanks, yes. I . . . had a close call in the car.”

“Poor thing. You should sit for a while, have something to drink. They have great fish and chips here.”

“Thanks. That’s not a bad idea.”

It was the adrenaline crash. I didn’t think I could drive safely at the moment. Maybe she was right. I needed a drink. Or food. Or both.

The tiny pub area was as crowded as ever. A long line at the bar dashed my hopes for food and drink; I didn’t think I could stand that long. But I was able to snag a seat on the window bench next to a burly man with a motorcycle helmet.

“You all right?” he asked solicitously. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Despite myself, I had to smile. “Yes, thank you . . . I um . . . almost hit a deer, almost ran off the road.”

He nodded. “That’ll shake you up, all right. Lot of deer ’round here; my wife and I ride Highway One all the time. I’m Roger, go by Rog. Delia’s in the restroom trying to fix her helmet hair.”

I nodded. “I think we met.”

“You want me to order something for you?”

His solicitousness surprised me, and for a crazy moment I wondered if old Rog here might be trying to kill me. But the bench where we were sitting was right next to the bar, so I could watch to be sure he wasn’t slipping something into my drink.

Relax, Mel,
I told myself.
The man is just being kind
.

“Thank you. I would really appreciate it.” I asked for a hard cider and some fish and chips. It dawned on me I
hadn’t eaten in a while—another rarity for me and a clear example that I wasn’t coping all that well.

Then I caught something out of the corner of my eye, and this time it wasn’t a ghost.

It was Buzz. In the front hall.

Buzz, the professional driver. One of Elrich’s devoted minions. His hazel eyes, which I’d once thought of as easygoing and friendly, now appeared flat and emotionless as a snake’s.

My already addled mind flailed around, trying to think what to do. Enlist the help of Rog and Delia? Would Buzz be willing to hurt innocent bystanders just to get to me?

I remembered there was a hard-to-see door next to the dartboard that led to a room called “the Snuggery.” Just beyond that was a back door that opened onto the parking lot.

Could I get to it in time? Did Buzz have an accomplice waiting at the exit? I’d have to chance it.

I started to stand, but got only about halfway up when Ellis walked in, flanked by his ever-present bodyguards.

“You sure she’s okay?” I heard Delia ask Rog behind me.

Ellis took in the room, his face brightening when he saw me.

“Mel?” he asked, coming over to where I sat. “What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?”

I sank back down onto the bench. “I was . . . just having a bite.”

“I hear the fish and chips are excellent,” he said with his signature smile and a duck of the head.

“Best in Northern California,” Delia said, and Rog nodded.

“What are . . . ?” I had to clear my throat. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I took your advice and agreed to meet with Kieran Lachaidh.”

“Oh.” I was having a very hard time breathing.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sounding concerned. “You look pale.”

“She had a run-in with a deer on the road,” said Rog. “Bad scare.”

“Well, no wonder, then,” Ellis said. Turning to Rog, he held out his hand. “I’m Ellis Elrich.”

“No kidding? I
thought
that was you!”

“We took one of your seminars!” exclaimed Delia.

“I gotta tell you, Mr. Elrich,” said Rog, “I wouldn’t own my own garage today if it wasn’t for you and your program.”

“It’s true,” said Delia. “You changed our lives.”

The fandom went on for several minutes, with Ellis graciously accepting the compliments while assuring Delia and Rog that they had done the hard work of changing their lives themselves and that they should always remember that. The bodyguards, Andrew and Omar, subtly but effectively placed themselves in the way of any further adoration from the crowd. Meanwhile Buzz, far from trying to kill me, had ordered a round of beers and was vying for the prime table, the corner bench.

I used these few minutes to pull myself together. Escaping a near-death experience on the road, then nearly scaring myself to bits, had taken the starch out of me. I started wondering if I hadn’t exaggerated the whole terrifying episode, then remembered the fresh scratches on my rear bumper.

It really had happened. Someone had tried to push me off the road. And they’d damned near succeeded.

Just then Kieran came down the stairs.

“Mel? You came with Ellis to negotiate? That’s really lovely of you.”

“I thought you weren’t here,” I said.

“Got here a few minutes ago. Is everything all right? You don’t look well.”

“Bad deer encounter,” Rog explained.

“Just needs a bit of a pick-me-up,” Delia added.

“She’ll be fine,” Ellis said.

I smiled weakly, by now sure everyone in the pub knew I’d had a run-in with a deer and no doubt thought I was milking it for all it was worth.

“I’m glad you’re speaking with Ellis,” I said. “I hope it goes well.”

My food was up. I sat on the window bench, ate the delicious fish and chips, and listened to Delia and Rog extol the virtues of the Elrich Method. From time to time I cast a glance at the men in the corner huddled over the barrel that doubled as their table. Their discussion seemed heated but civilized.

After a little food and rest, I felt almost like myself again. I thanked Rog and Delia and wished them well. Not wanting to interrupt the negotiations between Kieran and Ellis, I slipped out without saying good-bye and checked the parking lot. Kieran’s Prius was in slot number six, and the stretch limo at the rear of the lot, I assumed, belonged to Ellis Elrich. The parking lot was jammed with cars, but nary a black SUV in sight.

Back at Elrich’s house, Alicia met me at the door with the address of Libole’s warehouse.

*   *   *

“There’s good news and bad news,” I said on the phone to Zach. I was waiting outside a Safeway supermarket near the warehouse. “We might not have to break in. It’s possible I have the warehouse key.”

“You’re not sure if you have a key or not? Is this key somehow caught in an eddy in the time-space continuum?”

“I have a very large key ring, on which I presume is a key to the warehouse, but I can’t be sure until I try them.”

“Dare I ask what the bad news is?”

“Someone is trying to kill me.”

“When’s the last time someone
wasn’t
trying to kill you?”

“That’s not true. I mean . . . Okay, it’s a little true. But it’s not like someone’s trying to kill me all the time. It’s more sporadic, like every once in a while. And this is one of those times.”

“Are you okay?”

“In a manner of speaking. I have made the transition from terrified to royally pissed. But I thought I should give you fair warning.”

“Backing out now would make me look unmanly, wouldn’t it?”

“It surely would.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll gird my loins and risk life and limb in a patently transparent attempt to prove my masculinity.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“Where and when?”

“Meet me at the Mill Valley Safeway, across from Mount Tam High School, soon as you can get here.”

“Just for the record: This is the reason I don’t hang out with you more, Mel. You aren’t good for a person’s health.”

I snorted. “The reason you don’t hang out with me more is spelled G-r-a-h-a-m.”

Silence.

“Seriously, Zach. I have a gun, but I really do need backup.”

“Wait—you’re carrying a
gun
?”

“And bullets, even.”

“Okay,” Zach said with a long-suffering sigh. “Safeway parking lot. Give me half an hour.”

While I waited, I bought Zach his very own can of wasp spray.

We caught up while we drove in my car to the warehouse. I asked him to talk about anything but murder and ancient stones. Zach had been trying hard to make a living as a photographer, which was no easy gig in the days of smartphones with their built-in cameras.

“These days everyone and his brother thinks he can take photos, or even make videos. It’s a crying shame, is what it is.”